Berlin Airlift: Operation Vittles
by inigo1220
Summary: History fic. At the beginning of the Cold War, Alfred wishes to be hero for those who need one; he just never expected that so many people's lives would be on the line.


_ A/N: The Berlin Airlift is one of my favourite moments in history, so I just HAD to write about it. Also, excuse the language and anti-communist sentiment. But, it is America during the Cold War, so Alfred and Ivan are not exactly friends... (Sorry RussAme fans); also, I don't mean to make Ivan the bad guy in all this (though I've found no historical reason why he isn't). Regardless, keep in mind that the US (and other Allied powers) didn't just do this to be good people; keeping West Berlin running was a way of proving to the Soviets how powerful the US (and a capitalist system) was. Also: this is told from America's point of view—and he sort of hates Ivan at this point. _

_ Also, this fast forwards quite a bit; bear with me. If you're having trouble with the history, just keep reading. I tried to incorporate it as much as I could so that the history notes at the end would not have to be incredibly long (like this Author's Note). I think it'll make sense, but if there's something I should clarify (or correct) feel free to PM or review! _

_ Thank you for reading! _

* * *

**The Berlin Blockade: ****June 24, 1948 – May 12, 1949**

This could not be happening.

Alfred stared at the morning paper in shock. This was not totally unexpected, but he had never thought that Ivan and his stupid, commie, piece of shit government would be so cruel. Last Friday, the Soviets had halted traffic across the Autobahn. This Friday, they had stopped supplying the civilians in West Berlin with food, water, and electricity. Today, more than ever, he wanted to punch Ivan in the face. Hard. Punch him all the way into fucking space. The telephone rang, startling him out his daydream of seeing his rival begging on his knees for mercy. Sighing, he stood from his comfortable chair and walked towards the small table where the telephone continued to vibrate. This better be something important.

"Hel-"

"You heard the news?" He was cut off by Arthur's tired, but clipped and ever-professional London accented voice.

Slightly annoyed at being cut off, he responded, "Yes. What are ya gonna on do 'bout it?"

"I am not certain that we can do much. My troops number less than 8,000, and I am sure that yours fair no better."

Under different circumstances, Alfred would have been fighting to button up his giggles at Arthur's accent, but today, he was simply weary. "Well, I just read the news like five minutes ago, so I don't have a clue what my people are gonna say about the whole shebang. They won't be happy, but you have a point. I don't think I got more of my men over there than you do."

He heard Arthur's sigh. "I've spoken with the frog as well. Not that he was much help, as usual. But he does agree that force is not the best option."

Alfred snorted. Even if it was, Francis was in absolutely no condition to fight. The silence lingered for another moment. "Well," Alfred said finally, "when you get a good idea, tell me, and if I get one, I'll tell ya."

"Have a good morning, Alfred."

"You, too."

Alfred returned the telephone to its cradles, and returned his elbows to the tabletop, rubbing at his eyes with his fingertips. Fucking commie bastard.

* * *

Thirty-six days worth of food.

Forty-five days worth of coal.

One and a half million Soviet Troops.

Twenty-two thousand Allied troops. Total.

Guilt encased him. So many starving, sick, and cold.

Just because of a struggle for dominance.

The sound of a door opening broke his train of thought and saw him snap his head away from the sheet of paper in front of him. A panting messenger dressed in a business suit approached him. "Sir, they've come up with a solution!" the young man exclaimed, smiling as he waited for permission to deliver his message. Alfred raised an eyebrow. He might have been young, but in these past hundred and seventy years Alfred had learned the hard way that no solution was simply a solution.

"Do tell."

"An airlift, sir. The communists will either have to break the agreement or deal with it, and we're fairly sure that they wouldn't do that." The young messenger ended with another grin. Alfred smiled slightly, trying to encourage the man, but not be too enthusiastic. But actually... hell no, Ivan wouldn't want to do that..."Although," the young man continued, a bit more hesitant now, his smile faltering. "It'll be difficult. We're not sure how we'd send so many supplies out to Berlin... we don't actually have concrete numbers... but we were hoping that since you and your British counterpart get along pretty well that you could maybe ask him if a joint airlift is possible?"

Bingo. Alfred stood from his chair, grinning widely. He clamped a hand on the surprised aide's shoulder and said, "Doing the impossible is what America's all about, dude! I'll call Arthur in a sec and tell ya what he said, 'kay? But I don't think he'll say no." He let go of the aide, grin wider than ever. "'Sides, we're the heroes! We're not gonna let anyone down." The aide nodded and with a small salute, stepped out of the room. Quickly, almost bursting with excitement, he dialled Arthur's number. He loved flying and if flying was the solution, he'd go out there himself and fly those beautiful metal creatures. Alfred barely heard the click of the phone before he began babbling in excitement to Arthur:

"Dude, my totally awesome government people came up with this totally awesome idea to save Berlin! So, ya know how we have those C-47 Skytrains, the ones that can carry three or so tons a flight? My general dude suggested that we could do, like, an airlift and, like, fly food to the people there and then—"

"Alfred," a tight voice interrupted him. "I do not understand a word of what you are saying. Speak clearly and stop babbling."

"Chill, dude," Alfred rolled his eyes in annoyance. He was speaking at a perfectly acceptable rate. "I was just sayin' that we could do an airlift, ya know, to help the people in Berlin..." He paused for a second, hoping that his former father would agree. "...Like, a joint airlift." There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. "Uh... hello?"

"Still here," Arthur sighed. "I... I cannot give you an answer right this minute; though, I am certain that my government will not be terribly opposed to the idea. After all, we are already supplying our troops in Berlin with food by plane-"

"Really!" Alfred interjected, eyes going wide. "That's awesome. So, when do we-"

"Alfred," Arthur's voice had grown tight again. Alfred smirked a bit, remembering Arthur's dislike of his babbling. Even as a child, he had been reprimanded for it. "Alfred," Arthur continued when the American was silent for a moment. "Don't be so hasty. You cannot simply rush into this. Do you even have the slightest idea of how many people live in West Berlin?"

"Uhhhh..."

"Do you even know where West Berlin is?"

"Hey!" Alfred protested, though he'd heard the smile in the Briton's voice and knew that the Brit was simply teasing him. "I sure as hell found it during the bombings! I'm sure I can find it again!"

The Briton chuckled slightly. "Exactly." Arthur paused for a moment, then, with a more serious voice, continued: "Thankfully, one of my own, Lord Robertson, calculated the numbers not too long ago." Alfred's face brightened, and as though he sensed Alfred's newly brewing enthusiasm, the Brit continued tiredly, "But don't be optimistic, lad. The numbers aren't good. We would need more than a thousand and a half tons of food alone each day, and even more coal and gasoline."

"But," Alfred argued, beginning to get excited again, "we could do it. I mean, I'm sure you got a lot more planes near Berlin than I do, and I have enough to carry," he glanced at his notes, "300 tons a day! I mean, I know that it's not that great, but we can't let these folks down, Arthur," the American pleaded. "We gotta try at least!"

Arthur sighed. Some days, he was glad Alfred was just an optimistic fool; and some days, he wanted to shoot him for being so. Today, he wasn't sure which one he favoured. Rubbing at his temples, Arthur attempted to recall his days as a father and explain as patiently as possible. "Look, Alfred, I know that, and, believe me, I will do everything in my power to make sure that our portion of Berlin does not fall... But I am also hesitant. This may not even work. And, even if it does, what will be the consequences? You cannot just think about today, Alfred. You need to think about tomorrow, too."

Alfred sighed. "Alright, alright. Whatever... But you agree that this is a good idea, right?" the American pleaded.

Arthur nodded, then, shaking his head at his own foolishness, responded, "For now, yes. I will be sure to hold a meeting with my government and will give you our response as soon as possible."

Alfred's grin returned. Sometimes, he really loved Arthur. "Gotcha'. I'll be waiting."

"Good night, Alfred."

* * *

He loved flying with every fibre of his being.

He wished a for a second that he could just stick his head out the plane, feel the wind, and touch the clouds—although, he would likely freeze and break every bone in his body if that ever happened. So instead he settled for staring at the ground below him and grinning like a maniac as he approached the concrete and rubble that made up the city of Berlin.

The day was June 26, 1948, and he was flying the first American aircraft of Operation Vittles.

His landing was smooth and when he finally exited the plane, a crowd of tired-looking adults and hopeful children had gathered. They pressed up as close as they could to the plane, but a few other men dressed in uniform stopped all of them. Except one: a blond, serious-faced man. He was about the same height as the American and approached him with slow, measured steps and slight limp. The man gave Alfred a tiny smile that did not reach his blue eyes, but Alfred grinned back, as happy as a child on Christmas. He hoped to convey to the blond exactly how happy he was that he could do this. The last time, they had messed up big time. But this time was going to be different. This time, only those who truly deserved it would be punished. Alfred extended his hand towards the tired blond. "It's good to see ya, Ludwig."

Ludwig nodded, clasping Alfred's hand between his two. "_Danke_. Thank you. For this."

Alfred smiled sheepishly. Praise from a nation that had been trying to kill him only a few years earlier was not something he was used to. "It's not as much as you need, but it's a start. I promise you though. They won't starve any longer."

Ludwig shook his head. "I stand by what I said before. Anything and everything is appreciated." Ludwig broke the handshake and looked at the supplies, his normally stoic expression seemingly on the verge of tears. "_Danke_," the German whispered again, turning away from the American nation as the guards moved back and the Germans began to slowly approach the men unloading the bags of flour. Alfred grinned widely.

Screw the commie bastard. The people of West Berlin would get through this.

* * *

Alfred looked giddily at the numbers. After Black Friday, the delays and number of accidents had gone down while the tonnage of supplies entering West Germany only seemed to increase. The three and a half ton capable C-47s had been replaced by the bigger, but still land-able ten ton C-54s. On top of that, the locals were now helping the crews unload, making the process go even faster. In ten minutes, ten tons of cargo could be unloaded. Supplies being given rose to five thousand tons a day.

But best of all Ivan's plan had failed. Initially, the Russian had made his disdain for the entire project very clear, smirking at Alfred's plan, loudly proclaiming that the Allies would fail within a week. Then two weeks later, he'd begun offering free food the West Berliners if they crossed into East Berlin and registered there. Offers that almost all the West Berliners refused. Alfred smirked. Oh, and the raisin bombers, as the Germans called them! How he could forget them? At first, he couldn't believe it when he heard, but during one of his off hours he joined the children; sure enough, the sky rained candy. The American nation had nearly cried of joy. He himself had always made the effort to share his own chocolate and sweets, but to think that his own citizens, his children at home were donating these candies and making parachutes for them was such an amazing thing! To think that only a few years before, they'd called them krauts and hated them! But, if anything, he smiled as the thought came to him, the blockade had created a sense of equality among them and proved to Americans, here and back home, that the Germans were just people. People who wanted to live happy lives, who needed food, needed help. Needed a hero. An expression of determination and conviction crossed his face: they were doing right this time.

Even though they weren't in the clear yet. Winter was coming up and though many preparations were occurring to make sure that the airports could manage to receive the extra ton or so of coal, they were walking on a tight rope—and they knew it. The worst, Alfred had heard, would be the fog during November and December. _It covers the entire continent_, Francis had said with a worried look:_ I'm not sure how we will keep this up, runway or no runway_, _mon ami_. Alfred put the papers down and stood up from his desk. The West Berliners had been as gracious as possible about the situation. Many of the ex-Luftwaffe men had begun to help at the airports, and many regular civilians helped unload. But would it be enough? He couldn't be sure.

But regardless, he was going to try his best to get them what they needed. Because that's what heroes do.

* * *

He felt the excitement down to his very bones. He rocked back and forth unsteadily. His stomach was quaking with a mixture of excitement, fear, and nervousness. His front teeth rubbed against his chapped lips. For the hundredth time that day, his eyes glanced at the watch on his wrist.

The day was April 15th. Time, twelve hundred hours.

Alfred jumped slightly as he felt a hand fall onto his shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt him, but firm enough to steady him. He looked down sheepishly at the shorter, blond next to him. Arthur rolled his eyes at the American. "You won't be any more of a hero if we get this done, git," Arthur pointed out, removing his hand from the American's shoulder.

Alfred scowled slightly. "Stop being such a party pooper, Artie! I'm excited, and I've got every right to be. We're gonna get more supplies into West Berlin than we ever have before; if that's not something to be excited about then I'm sure as heck not sure what is!" The American returned his gaze to the the crew that was exiting the plane.

The Brit sighed in resignation. That nickname needed to go. "Well, chap, I suppose you have a point. But the fact of the matter is that having such high hopes is useless. After all, today may only be a damp squid." At the American's confused expression, the Brit sighed for a second time. Why couldn't Alfred have just kept using proper English? Did he really hate him that much? "This might fail, Alfred. That's what I'm trying to say."

To Arthur's surprise, however, Alfred's expression hardened. "We're not gonna lose," the American said tightly, turning to fully face his companion. "We're gonna show those commie bastards that we can keep this city running no matter what happens. We've kept these people alive through the winter. We've knocked down that Soviet tower. We've made this work—and it's gonna keep working." The American paused, realising that the Brit was staring at him with an almost wary expression; Arthur was fighting a smile at the sight of Alfred's intense gaze. "Now stop being the grumpy, cynical Brit that you are," Alfred smiled as if to show that he was merely teasing, "and let's help get stuff unloaded." The American nation turned away and jogged to the now open ramp and throng of workers that had gathered about it.

Arthur stood there for a few more seconds, preparing himself to move. The war and loss of his colonies had not been kind to him, and earlier movements that he had once taken for granted had become more difficult lately. "Daft as brush, that one," the Briton muttered to himself. But he allowed himself a small smile all the same as he slowly walked to join the crowd. Because though that determination had been what separated him from Alfred in the beginning, it was that same quality that made Arthur love him so much.

* * *

Alfred yawned, not bothering to bring his hand to his mouth. He blinked sleepily and slowly brought his coffee mug to his lips. Geez, he hadn't had coffee in such a long time. He hadn't allowed himself the pleasure since none of the Berliners had it either. But this morning was an exception. He set the mug down, preparing himself mentally for this phone call.

He did not have long.

As soon as his mug hit the table, the telephone on his desk nearly jumped from its cradle, trilling loudly. Alfred closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Game over. Exhale. He picked up the phone. "Good morning, Ivan," the American said as cheerfully as possible. His expression was set in a strange tight smile that couldn't decide whether it would like to be a grimace. He was glad that there was no one else in the room.

"_доброе утро_, Alfred." The Russian's voice was scratchy, but just as ominously cheerful as usual. Alfred rolled his eyes in annoyance at the mispronunciation, which he was sure was purposeful. But whatever. Ivan could pretend as much as he wanted that he had some semblance of power, but Alfred knew the truth. The Soviet was calling quits. So Alfred stayed quiet, waiting for Ivan to break the silence first.

"Tomorrow the papers will be out with some big news, da?" the Russian finally continued.

"I would hope so," Alfred smirked slightly, trying to make himself sound nonchalant.

For a second, Alfred heard nothing but static. Then, "You win, American," Ivan suddenly snapped, and Alfred had to force himself to hold back a slight chuckle. "We will call off the blockade and shipments will be allowed to enter West Berlin soon. But mark my words, this isn't the end of the this; what is it you American's say, 'You can win the battle, but that doesn't mean you've won the war.' Keep—"

"I know," Alfred interrupted, his anger starting to boil again. "And trust me, I plan on continuing to fight until no one has to live in the hell you've created. We're gonna keep giving it all we've got until everyone has the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

The Russian was silent for a moment. Then,

"We all have different definitions of happiness, America. Have a good evening."

Click.

* * *

_доброе утро – _Good day (in Russian)

**History Notes: **

** The Berlin Airlift was a part of a greater conflict called the Cold War. The Cold War was a conflict between the United States and the Soviet Union that lasted for almost the entire latter half of the 20th century. It wasn't an actual war in the sense that there were armies that attacked each other. Rather, it was a conflict of ideas: the United States was firmly capitalist while the Soviet Union was firmly communist. Because so many European powers collapsed economically during World War II, there was quite a bit of tension on how to get those economies back up. The United States provided Marshall Aid (loaned money to countries with the caveat that they would remain capitalist.) The Soviet Union had its own aid, but only offered it countries that agreed to run on a communist system. This created the what was called the Soviet Bloc, which covered what people consider Eastern Europe. **

** Furthermore, Berlin was split into for sectors: the French, the British, the American, and the Soviet. The Allied Sector made up Western Berlin (democratic and capitalist) and Eastern Berlin (communist). Of course, tensions arose and the USSR eventually cut off West Berlin's supplies... leading to the Berlin Airlift. **

** *Operation Little Vittles: an American pilot (had to be an American!) once handed out two sticks of gum to a few children who had been around the landing area. He promised that he would bring them more sweets if they didn't fight over the gum. The kids didn't, and he kept his promise. Eventually, one of the commanders found out about the operation, approved, and made the operation a larger thing. Not kidding about the donations! Businesses and civilians joined in quite a bit. **

_A/N: Hiya! To those of you who are here because of Always With You, I promise: I'm working on it. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed my characterisation of Alfred and that I did justice to his obsession with heroes. _


End file.
